WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR
Written for: LadyKaliska
Tomione Forum Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2012
Summary: Wonderful things do happen when you wish upon a star. HG/TMR-LV ONE-SHOT
Rated: M
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Snow drifted down in slow, fluttering swirls as Hermione peered through the window of her room. Childhood photographs stood in frames on her dresser across the room, her bed remained untouched and impeccably made while her nightgown was lain atop the covers. The door was locked from the outside and the windows were charmed to stay perpetually shut, a guard of Death Eaters standing below in her garden. There were also two waiting outside her bedroom door for orders on what to do with her.
There was a terrifying chill in her room that creeped over and settled deep into her bones. Her jeans and thick jumper were impervious, nothing could keep the cold from freezing her bones in fear. And there was an air of panic to the crispness of the air. How was she even found? Why had her security charms faltered? What was going to happen to her? Would the orders be to kill her? Or would she be taken to draw Harry out?
Two snowflakes floated up and stuck to the glass of her window, blending into the rest of the frost. It was New Year's Day by now, being almost an hour past midnight. Hermione had been trapped in her room, in her parents' house outside of London in friendly muggle suburbs, since Christmas. No one knew she was being held captive over the most ridiculous event in the history of magic. Or who, exactly, was keeping her locked in this makeshift tower.
She did not know how she had done it, or why it had happened. She had been devastated by the results of the Final Battle the year before; had cried and mourned for the man people had never even attempted to understand. Then she had retrieved her parents and retreated from the wizarding world, uncertain if she could keep this huge secret from her friends. If she admitted what she had done during the war, well, she would become a pariah in the magical community. More so than she was as an over ambitious know-it-all during her Hogwarts years.
After the battle, she had been honored as a hero alongside Harry and Ron and Neville, and so many others, but she didn't deserve the Order of Merlin. She didn't deserve the recognition or the praise, or the little girls that stopped her on the street and told her they wanted to be just like her. So, she packed her things and left the Burrow in the middle of the night. Hermione found her parents in Australia, brought them home, and started work on catching up on her muggle education.
Harry and Ron had sent owls, but Hermione just sent them back without a reply.
What was she supposed to say?
"Greetings, dear friends, I have banished myself from the wizarding world. I am fine, and safe, in the muggle world, so no need to find me. I am doing my penance, and you deserve a better friend. I met the Dark Lord during the Horcrux Hunt, once, and fell in love with him. Sorry. Sincerely, Hermione."
Horrible. Horrible reply. She would never send something so under-detailed or unexplained. That was simply not the Hermione Granger way.
Unfortunately, until she could compose a respectable letter that explained her situation without making her sound like a lunatic, she was remaining silent. No one knew where she lived except McGonagall, and the Professor was still overseeing the reconstruction of Hogwarts. Besides, with the extra protection she placed around her parents' home, no one from the magical community would be able to see anything more than an abandoned house as they walked by.
Snowflakes fluttered around each other past her window. It was a beautiful dance as flakes floated up in graceful movements and then down past the glass towards the snow covered ground. The snow had always mesmerised Hermione, ever since she was a little girl. The pristine white of each flake, how it could flutter and dance on the wind or turn into sheets of painfully pricking ice during blizzards. It was just fascinating how incredibly forceful snow could be, but also, when the clouds parted at night and the stars peeked through, how unbelievably beautiful and stunning the aftermath became.
Hugging "Hogwarts: A History" to her chest, Hermione sighed. She had so many questions that had yet to be answered, assumptions left to simmer in her and evolve into ridiculous scenarios. All she knew, for certain, was that the Dark Lord had returned on Christmas Day and sent Death Eaters to lock her parents and she in everyone's respective rooms until he could rally enough supporters to organize.
That was what she was assuming, anyway. It had been a week of captivity with no visit from the Dark Lord. She was waiting, on edge and anxious. Where was he? What would happen to Harry? How was this even possible?! She watched him die, turn to dust and ash and float away like these snowflakes outside. All she had been given in answer to her questions was a sly, "All thanks to you, Granger," from Goyle, before the door was shut in her face. She wasn't entirely certain if she dreaded the fact that something she had done brought back Voldemort , or she was more relieved and happy that he wasn't truly gone anymore.
A hooded figure appeared in the backyard and Hermione perked as she watched the newcomer's movements. The two Death Eaters in the garden kneeled before the cloaked figure, and Hermione knew that the Dark Lord had arrived. Flying across her room, she threw open the door of her closet and pulled out the only green dress she owned. To keep with Slytherin traditional colors, Hermione slipped on a pair of silver satin-like flats after divesting herself of the jeans and jumper. By the time a knock sounded on the door, she was dressed and finished braiding her unruly, frizzy curls over one shoulder.
Standing next to her bed, Hermione tied off the braid with a dark green ribbon as the door swung open immediately after the knock. The hooded man stepped into the room and the door swung closed behind him, locking them both inside. She clenched her fists nervously at her sides as she waited for the silence to break and for him to speak. Her stomach fluttered, doing flips, as he lowered the hood and smirked at her.
"Always willing to please me, Granger," he said, but she barely understood him, too astonished by the sight of him.
This was not the serpentine Lord everyone had known of and seen during the Final Battle. This was the youthful being Harry had described after rescuing Ginny from the Basilisk in second year. Flawlessly smooth, pale skin stood out and gave him that very human complexion; cold, dark and acutely aware eyes pierced her soul; symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing bone structure constructed a God-like visage, and perfectly combed black hair finished off his look. He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties, incredibly handsome with an air of intelligence that spoke unique volumes of who this man had been, and who he would continue to be. Lord Voldemort at this age and stage in life, to Hermione, seemed too sinfully gorgeous to be reality.
"Even Lord Voldemort knows when to give credit, when credit is due," he continued, his voice a harmony of heavenly sound. "If not for one mudblood's childish naivete, I would not be alive. I will be rewarding you, Hermione, beyond even my Death Eaters' wildest dreams."
Remembering everything from the snake-like Voldemort of before, Hermione bowed her head and thanked him politely. She was alive, and would remain alive for the foreseeable future, but there were two other people in the house whose fate was still unclear. "And my parents? What will happen to them?"
His eyes remained empty, face blank, as he answered, "Their memories will be erased, and they will leave the country before I change my mind."
It was implied that Hermione would be the one to do it, and she understood that there would be no debate.
She watched him reach into an inner pocket of his robes and pull out her wand. It seemed to play out in slow motion as he handed it to her, Hermione having spent the last week without it. She accepted it graciously, thanking the Dark Lord for allowing her a wand and waited for his instructions. She remembered the last time she had not waited for his orders, and she wasn't in any hurry to experience the punishment again.
"My Death Eaters have been dismissed, Hermione," said Tom as he turned to the door. "I will supervise you this evening while you take care of your muggle parents. There will be no need to pack your things, anything you may need will be provided. After tonight, you will never see this house or your family again. Do you understand?"
She nodded and followed him from the room.
The remnants of Riddle Manor had been masked behind layers of incredibly complex wards, and Hermione had been allowed the use of her wand to fix up the interior to Tom's specifications. The first month was spent scourgifying and ridding the house of bothersome pests, supervised by a minimum two-Death Eater guard since Tom was always gone, or shut away in his study with parchments of arithmetic equations.
Snow blanketed the grounds, and at night Hermione could be found curled in a windowsill counting the snowflakes as they fell. After the Manor was clear of doxies and boggarts, furniture transfigured into more aesthetically pleasing decor, she was left a list of texts to read and theories to pick apart. Tom demanded three feet of parchment, no more or less, at the end of every day on each theory assigned to her that morning. By dinnertime, he expected her to be finished and waiting for him to evaluate her work. They debated any inconsistencies - or "incorrect assumptions," as Tom so snarkily put it - with her analysis and hypotheses.
When it came to arithmetic theories, Hermione became extremely vicious and protective of the breakthroughs of the leading Masters in the field. It was what drew Hermione to Arithmancy, the fact that the foundation lain was solid and theoretical equations that proved hypothetical answers were air-tight. No room for much knit-picking because numbers didn't lie.
Unless Tom was nit-picking and there were always holes in others' work, but never his own theories.
"Totteridge's way of splicing through a fifty-eight digit equation is absurd, Hermione," sneered Tom from across the table. His bite of beef and carrot paused mid-raise to his perfectly sculpted lips, "His theory is full of holes and open to error. Plough's theory would suit such an equation much better."
"That's one opinion!"
"My opinion, and the only opinion that counts."
"And that's your opinion," challenged Hermione, dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter, "Which you should reconsider, seeing as how you made a rather significant mistake with the equations in your study!"
Seething, Tom took a moment to collect himself before responding through a clenched jaw, "You disobeyed my strict orders and viewed my research?"
"Yes," replied Hermione smugly. "Don't worry, I fixed the inaccuracies for you. They're emblazoned in red ink."
His eyes flashed red, fist clenched on the table, and it appeared as though he was struggling to not just kill her right then and there, "You touched my inkwells?"
She smirked, "Yes. Yes, I did."
In all honesty, Hermione was well aware of how dangerous a line she was toeing. She knew that she would be punished severely for entering his study and touching his parchments. It would be shocking to her if he didn't leave her half broken and bleeding on the dining room floor. She shouldn't have gone against his wishes, would suffer dearly for it, but she couldn't help herself. If she could get any other form of attention other than patronising condescension or snarky comments that tore at her esteem, she would count it as a win. It got tiring being treated like his personal protégé, when all she wanted was for him to look at her differently. Like she was more than a minion to him, even if he would never love her in return.
Methodically, he withdrew his wand and stood. He looked at her with cold, calculating rage burning in his eyes. As much as she dreaded the pain, Hermione kept reminding herself it would be worth it. It would all be worth it.
"Go to my study and wait for me," he said coolly, flicking his wand and vanishing the plates. "Do not touch anything. Am I understood, Hermione?"
Unnerved by the sudden calm demeanor, Hermione nodded and walked briskly from the room.
She waited for him in the study. She remained standing, next to a chair by his parchment-covered desk and with her eyes locked on the fluttering snow outside the window. He entered several moments later, calm and composed as he sat behind the desk and shuffled through his stacks until he came upon the six pages covered in Hermione's red handwriting. Tom's eyes grew red and wide as he read her notes and followed the arrows to her corrections. She watched him anxiously while he examined her work, noticing the minute twitch at the corner of his left eye.
Oh, that's not good, Hermione thought.
When he was done, though, his features broke into a devilish grin that unnerved her more than anything else. Wand in hand, he stood and walked around the desk until he stood in front of Hermione. With a sharp flick, Tom sent had her lifted into the air and screaming at the top of her lungs in pain. He only held the curse for ten brief seconds, but the alterations to the Cruciatus that Hermione had so unknowingly assisted him with proved far more intense than the original. He didn't want her to go insane, and from the calculations more than thirty seconds could turn a person into Frank and Alice Longbottom. He merely wanted her to learn a lesson.
Panting, Hermione collapsed and dry heaved over the ornate rug while Tom smirked down at her. He remained silent until her nervous system stopped causing her to twitch, and the burning sensation underneath her skin subsided. When she was able to push herself, with difficulty, to her knees, Hermione gawked wide-eyed at Tom until he laughed heartily at her expense.
"I must thank you again, Hermione," said Tom after a few minutes of unnerving cackling. "You brought me back from death, and have now assisted me in creating a more effective torture curse. Did it work well? It seemed that it worked quite well."
"It works fan-bloody-tastic," groaned Hermione.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Tom replied, waggling his finger at her with a smirk lacing his lips. "Such language is far from lady-like, Hermione. I thought we were past such vulgarities?"
She huffed in retort, "My apologies, I guess my politeness vanished into thin air."
He chuckled, "Do not be so daft. You are better than cheap quips, Hermione. Now, answer the question. Did it work?"
She nodded while she answered, "Yes, it worked extremely well... Worse than the Cruciatus."
"Excellent," said Tom cheerfully. "That was exactly what I was working towards. You shall be rewarded for your help, Hermione...After your punishment, of course.
"You will spend the next week organizing my personal library. The specifications will be listed for you tomorrow, and I expect you to follow them explicitly. If you ignore my instructions again, I will punish you more severely than I have done tonight," he had taken up his seat behind the desk, refusing to look at her. "It is getting late, Hermione. You are dismissed."
Nodding, she struggled to her feet, but managed after a few awkward minutes. Before she opened the door to leave, Hermione turned to look back at him with the question on the tip of her tongue, "How was I the one to bring you back? What did I do that no one else thought of?"
He looked up and smirked, setting down his stack of research parchments.
Propping his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers, he finally answered with a question of his own, "What happens... when you wish upon a star, Hermione?"
It was a puzzling reply, but Hermione understood after several long moments of searching her brain for the reference, "Your dreams come true."
His eyes flashed red as he grinned, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
She left with a new understanding as to why he seemed the be less cruel than the previous version that Harry defeated. It was what pushed her to make the journey up the stairs to her bedroom, and what swept her off into a restless sleep. She took her punishment seriously, never wavering from Tom's directions after learning what she had helped him achieve due to her blind meddling. She worried for Harry, having a nagging suspicion that the magnified Cruciatus had been created with The-Boy-Who-Lived specifically in mind.
She knew it was wrong to side with Tom when Harry had been her best friend for years, but what could she do? She was being taught by Lord Voldemort - everything he knew was being handed to her - for her betterment. And Harry had basically chosen Ron, leaving Hermione ti spend her days cleaning house with Molly while Hogwarts was still being rebuilt. They were becoming Aurors, but look at where Hermione had ended up.
In the scope of things, Hermione felt she had landed the top honor while Harry and Ron were stumbling through life with blinders on. They wouldn't see Tom coming, and Hermione could only hope she would not be present when Voldemort killed them. She may have wished the wizarding world's worst nightmare back from the dead, but it didn't mean she wanted her friends to know it was she who did so.
There was one thought running through her mind as she got up the next morning to begin the organisations to the Dark Lord's library, "Never wish on a star... ever again."
THE END.